


Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably

by middlemarch



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Ashmole 782, Courtship, Episode 5, F/M, Flowers, Late Night Conversations, Love Letters, Might Have Been, Romance, Scents & Smells, Vampires, Wine, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It might have happened so many ways, but it never began with absence.





	Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably

“This has been an odd courtship,” Diana mused. She and Matthew lay in the wide, downy bed, naked as jaybirds Em would have said, having temporarily sated themselves with what Matthew asserted constituted bundling _à la française_. She was still not entirely convinced on that point, especially since there had nearly been a contretemps with his mother over her lack of fluency in Occitan; how much was being either lost or corrupted in translation? Matthew shifted and she felt his bare skin against hers. There were eddies of scent even a witch could discern: the rich musk of their satisfied desire; her skin clove and honey, his cypress, currant, _fleur de sel_; wood-smoke from the hearth, the lovely acridness of a burnt candlewick. She nestled closer to him and felt his breath on her shoulder.

“It’s not the courtship I would have chosen, _ma caille_,” he said. “Not for you.”

“Tell me then. If there were no Ashmole 782, how would it be?”

“Perhaps we would have met at a conference. One about alchemy and modern sciences, genetics and eugenics and the occult. One held in a beautiful old hotel in Prague or Basel. Maybe Lisbon in the spring. I would have asked you a question at a panel discussion, found you afterwards at the cocktail hour and told you not to drink the execrable wine they were serving,” Matthew said. His voice held his enjoyment of the fantasy, a beguilement like the beginning of an enchantment.

“Then what?”

“I would have discussed your most recent article. It was brilliant but I disagreed with a conclusion you drew. I’d ask you if we could talk more over dinner, a bottle of red worth drinking,” he said.

“Would there be moonlight and a walk through the old city?” Diana asked.

“No. There would have been starlight and I would have bitten my tongue before saying I saw it in your eyes, how they looked like star sapphires. You would have laughed until you realized I was serious,” Matthew said. He’d begun stroking her side as he spoke, his hand moving along the dip of her waist, the curve of her thigh.

“And you would have kissed me then,” Diana said.

“Not that night. That night, I would have sung you a song in Occitan, one of Arnaut Daniel’s that was lost, that only I remember,” Matthew said, humming a little. She’d never heard him sing and suddenly, she wanted it more than anything.

“You sound very sure,” she said.

“It might have gone differently. I might have met you at a bookstore. We’d both want the last copy of a book.”

“Something about alchemy and chemistry. Paracelsus?” Diana said.

“_Peut-être_. Or the new novel by Elena Ferrante,” Matthew said.

“Would you have let me buy it?”

“I would have tried to buy it for you and you wouldn’t have let me. I would have been angry, for a moment, and then charmed. I would have asked the bookseller to take my name, to call me when the next shipment arrived and then I would have asked you to join me for a cup of coffee.”

“I like this one,” Diana said. “But I don’t drink coffee.”

“Tea then. No, hot chocolate. Something sweet-- and bitter. I would have asked you to show me what else you’d bought and offered to show you what I’d picked. You would have read through the first chapter of a biography of Aphra Behn, pushing back the hair that came loose from your ribbon, the sunshine bright on your face,” Matthew said.

“I have a hair-ribbon in this? Am I twelve?”

“Hush! I would have suggested we meet again to discuss the book, I would have asked you to lend me the novel.”

“That’s it?” 

“It’s a very good novel,” Matthew replied. “I’d send you half a dozen letters, written in iron-gall ink, pretending to write about the novel. I’d fill the pages with lines I loved, everything that reminded me of you. I’d tell you what I thought when I wrote your name and how I wasn’t sure whether to sign the letters _your Matthew_, though I already was.”

“I like this,” Diana said, sighing as his hands touched her very gently, very deliberately. “Do I ever get flowers?”

“Peonies, bunches of them, pale pink and white, tied with raffia. An orchid with a violet throat. Lily-of-the-valley, the stems wet. A gardenia,” Matthew said. He kissed her, just behind her ear. He made a sound that was hunger, that was longing.

“I think we would have met at a potluck,” Diana said, taking his hand in hers, pressing it against her heart. “I would have brought vegetarian chili, with lentils and zucchini, and you would have hated it. Hated it. To be fair, it’s not a very good recipe and I would have put in too much cumin.”

“A potluck?”

“Where everyone brings a dish to share,” she explained. He laughed and she shivered.

“I know what a potluck is. What’s the reason we’d be there?”

“Hmm. A university coalition against...I don’t know. We’d be fighting something oppressive, something real, not something silly. People wouldn’t know what to think of you because you insisted in coming in your gown. You would have looked divine, like it was 1700 and you were a a don,” Diana said, growing more confident as she spoke.

“We’re at Oxford, _non_? Because I don’t think gowns will ever fly at Yale,” Matthew said.

“Yes. Oxford. Fighting deportations maybe or University investments in compromised funds. China, Saudi Arabia. There’d be someone you knew from Tiananmen. You’d speak fluent Mandarin and Cantonese. There’d be a daemon and another witch but no other vampires. Only you. I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off of you and I’d be afraid you’d see. You would,” she said.

“We’d argue?”

“No, we’d be the only ones who agreed. Except about the chili. You’d kill the bottle of Burgundy and then the Shiraz and not turn a hair. I’d notice. I’d wonder if I should offer you a ride but you’d catch me out,” Diana said.

“I would? What would I say?”

“Nothing I’d remember the next day. Not clearly. I’d remember blushing and I would have done some embarrassing magic, tied your scarf maybe. But your number would be in my phone and I’d text you, crossing my fingers,” she said.

“How bold. And agile,” he remarked. She heard the smile in his voice. 

“Em always says take a chance, so I would. I’d think you’d ignore it. Ignore me. But you’d suggest we go to a concert, mandolins or some Gregorian chant thing and I’d show up in a bulky woolly jumper down to my knees that made you do a double-take. I’d hope it wasn’t a mistake,” Diana said.

“It wouldn’t be,” Matthew said, drawing her close and rolling over so her head lay on his chest, on his slowly beating heart. “Except for the Gregorian chant. I hate that.”

“Really?”

“It’s a bit trite for a vampire. Lugubrious **and** sacred,” Matthew said.

“What would you pick?”

“West Coast revival. Mezwed. Opera buffa,” Matthew said.

“Maybe Ashmole 782 wasn’t the worst-case scenario then,” Diana said, smiling when his laughter resonated through his chest against her cheek. She wanted to be closer to him, she wondered if there was a spell she could learn to cast. “Maybe all this was worth it.”

“How could it be otherwise? You are in my arms, my beloved,” Matthew said. Then he kissed her and resumed their courtship, the only one, the perfect one.

**Author's Note:**

> I agree with Diana that their courtship is non-standard and that generally, attacks, wild magic, predator/prey behavior and being stalked by about a hundred other creatures is not the best set-up for a solid relationship (the red wine and library is just fine). I decided to let these two have a nice long, post-coital chat and they can see where it leads them.
> 
> Arnaut Daniel (Occitan: [fl. 1180–1200)] was an Occitan troubadour of the 12th century, praised by Dante as a "the best smith" (miglior fabbro) and called a "grand master of love" (gran maestro d'amore) by Petrarch. He is considered one of the best (if not the best) Occitan troubadours. 
> 
> Aphra Behn (bapt. 14 December 1640[1] – 16 April 1689) was an English playwright, poet, translator and fiction writer from the Restoration era. As one of the first English women to earn her living by her writing, she broke cultural barriers and served as a literary role model for later generations of women authors. Rising from obscurity, she came to the notice of Charles II, who employed her as a spy in Antwerp. Upon her return to London and a probable brief stay in debtors' prison, she began writing for the stage.
> 
> Elena Ferrante is a pseudonymous Italian novelist, who has said that she was born in 1943 in Naples. Ferrante's books, originally published in Italian, have been translated into many languages. Her four-book series of Neapolitan Novels are among her best known works.
> 
> The title is from Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing.


End file.
